


all the years between us

by janebirkin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal Instincts, Animal Transformation, Arranged Marriage, Dark, Dark Jon Snow, F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:18:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janebirkin/pseuds/janebirkin
Summary: He just nodded when he saw her in the courtyard and pursed his lips when she sat next to him at the Great Hall. But that morning, she found herself tangled between strong legs and gentle hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This type of verse has been done before but I don't know why I'm so fascinated by Jon or Sansa feeling like their spouse doesn't reciprocate their feelings!!! I will probably write another chapter and let my babies be happy at last. This is my first time posting on AO3 so thank you for reading! Also, I apologize for any type of mistakes, English is not my first language.

Morning was Sansa’s favourite part of the day. She would wake just before dawn and watch the sunrise with Ghost at her side. The castle was asleep and surrounded by quietness and there was nobody around to disturb her thoughts. No letters thanking some annoying lord for something completely useless to be written. No feasts or namedays to be planned. No sitting in her wooden throne for hours on end to hear other people’s problems that were normally easy to solve - not so easy if they involved wildlings, though. Not that she didn't care about her people, but she cherished those few moments of quiet so much she often found herself daydreaming about them. And if she squinted her eyes just so, Ghost became Lady and her mother’s old chambers became her own old ones. Before the innocence of them was destroyed along with her body. She was a child of eight again and her family was safe.

Then Podrick would knock on the door asking if she’d like to break her fast and she would have to start the day. Take care of anything and everything and act like the Queen she was. It was truly hard work, and Jon tried but didn’t make it any easier.

Especially that morning.

After each awkward coupling that happened between the King and Queen in the North every several weeks, Jon would leave almost immediately without saying a word. He never stayed. Sansa had accepted the fact that he wasn’t attracted to her in that way, and he was just fulfilling his vows. So she tried not to be in his presence more than necessary. Every piece of their forever broken relationship that had been somewhat fixed when she had first reunited with him all those years ago at Castle Black, were scattered again the day that they were married. He never talked to her, never held her like he used to. He just nodded when he saw her in the courtyard and pursed his lips when she sat next to him at the Great Hall. But that morning, she found herself tangled between strong legs and gentle hands.

Jon was on top of her, with his head pillowed on her breasts. His black curls falling over his face like a cascade she wouldn’t mind falling from. She could feel the movement of his ribs when he breathed, squashing her own, but in a good way. Like a burn that was kind of healing her skin while hurting it. In, then out, then in again. It sent chills down her spine and made her legs tremble. She couldn't resist the urge to touch him, so she removed the hair from his face. She could cry from joy. Sansa had never looked at Jon’s face for such a long time without looking away after their marriage. She always felt too unwanted. Now she couldn’t bear to look away.

If it weren’t for the scars on his face and body, she would have doubted this wasn’t the Jon of old. That same Jon that laughed so loudly with Robb, she could hear him all the way to her chambers. How she wished he would shut up then. How she wished he would even smile now. Tears were threatening to fall from her eyes. She had been oh, so unfair with him. Always half-brother. Always bastard. He had been born a King, of course, he wouldn’t want her now. She thought, not for the first time, that if she had been born as Arya, Jon wouldn’t get enough of her. But then, he wouldn’t share her bed.

A knock on the door had her grab Jon's hair with that same hand that moments before had cleared his forehead. He stiffened instantly and her heart sank even further.

‘’Who is it?’’ she called with the coldest tone she could manage.

‘’It’s Podrick, Your…Your Grace,’’ the newly anointed Knight responded, ‘’do you wish to break your fast?’’

She looked down to be met with solemn dark eyes. She opened her mouth and he got up so quickly she feared she had done something wrong. She had done everything wrong.

‘’No, thank you Pod.’’

Her husband stood by the bed with his back to her, tying up his breeches. She pulled the linens to her shoulders and prayed that she found the strength to control her body again. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth and she became afraid her despair was going to show on her face.

<< ''Jon, come back to bed.’’>>

<< ''Please, come back to bed.’’>>

In some parallel universe, he was already nuzzled against her. In this one, her eyes were swollen with unshed tears.

He turned around and fixed his eyes on hers. Stark eyes. Sometimes he was too much Stark. Too much Robb and too much Eddard. Too much of all that she had lost. But he was family and kindness and loyalty, even if it was tainted by coldness. She couldn't blame him, after everything he had been through. She herself was a bit more ice than flesh.

Moving to stand next to her and kissing her temple, just like all those years ago, he whispered:

‘’It won’t happen again,’’ with a voice as soft as silk.

He disappeared after a moment behind the door that connected the Queen in the North's rooms to those of the King's, and left his wife there, choking with unsaid words that would never find their way out of her.

Was he blind? Could he not see how she longed to hold him and kiss him and sleep with him every night? Or did he just choose to ignore it and toy with her feelings?

Was he mad at her for not having given him an heir yet? Or for some other reason? Not being enough Daenerys maybe? Everyone knew something had happened between them. The only thing that had stopped Jon from marrying her was his promise to her. He was much too honourable, to his disappointment.

All she could do was weep and wonder in silence. Something she had promised herself she wouldn't do anymore. Something that was all she could do when it came to Jon.

She never felt as numb, as helpless, and for some reason, as guilty as she did right then and her quiet, beloved chambers were the last place she wished she were in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a bit more of why Jon and Sansa have grown so apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a really dark turn. I really wanted to make them happy but it just probably wouldn't be realistic. I don't know whether to write another chapter because unhappy Jonsa makes me so sad I had to practically force myself to write this. Anyway, I hope you find a way to enjoy all this angst!

* * *

 

He didn't sleep much. He was much more alert at night than at any hour of the day. He could hear Brienne outside, shifting from time to time. The serving girls sweeping the floor. The low rustling of leaves outside. Sansa breathing in the other room, and Ghost at her side. 

At night, his senses were awake and searching. He didn't have to smother what he was like in daylight.

He had known it ever since the Red Woman had brought him back. He wasn't Jon Snow anymore but in name. It wasn't just the trauma he had endured. His taste for blood and flesh had been clear ever since the battle against the Boltons.  
Death didn't intimidate him like it did many brave men. It woke his senses up, sent him running, and sniffing and

Death didn't intimidate him like it did many brave men. It woke his senses up, sent him running, and sniffing and _hunting_ _._ Like he was more an animal than man.  
He was, in fact. The revelation of his true parentage serving as an explanation for the feeling he had been carrying around for weeks. He was lethal. He was dangerous. Wolf _and_ dragon.

He was burning from the inside out and he was sure he was going to burn everyone with him.  
But he had promised himself, not Sansa. His sister-turned-cousin was the only thread keeping him from falling into that pit of destruction inside him. Her sweet voice and pretty fingers coaxed the animal into sleep, and he felt like he could breathe, even if it was for a little while. She looked after him, as he did her, and even if that darker side wanted her, his cousin kept her safe.

  
"As long as I don't touch her," he used to think to himself back then, "as long as I don't touch her, I will not destroy her."

  
He remembered the first time he had disobeyed that statement.

  
He was leaving for the Wall. Their walks to the Godswood, the repair of Winterfell, their long conversations held even past midnight had to be postponed. He was likely going to die, and his whole species with him. That was probably what impulsed him to wrap a hand around her neck and say to her very surprised face, "I swear I will come back for you", finishing just as their lips crashed with each other, desperate and uncontrollable.

  
He thought it was just an empty promise manufactured by a mind that knew death was just around the corner.  
It wasn't though. That sort of vow kept him fighting even when his legs were quivering with tiredness and his hands were so sore his sword was going to fall to the ground. Death had touched him twice. Once with the cold metal of his so-called brothers and another with the ice-made hands of a man that had risen from the dead just like him.

But he did come back for her, with more voices and further shadows inside him. Clinging to his back and whispering foul things.

They still called him _The King In The North_ and he had to respond to that calling. Daenerys had been clear as day when she had bitterly said, "If you are not marrying me, you are marrying her''

The _'if not'_ kept hanging around them, even now, after all the time that had passed. Why she had chosen her escaped him. Perhaps his aunt sensed so much more than he had thought. 

It hadn't been easy, after all the pretty words in the Godswood, seeing her so hurt. But every time she touched him, the beast inside him wanted to rip her gown off and hear her scream until his ears bled. And the problem was that when he was in that state of mind, he couldn't tell pain from pleasure. It hadn't happened with Dany because she had the dragon inside her too, but that handmaiden hadn't lived long. Neither that whore some of the soldiers had brought with them.  
He remembered distant screams and splashes of blood. But it was like he was floating in a dream. When he had been able to feel his body again, they were dead. Like crushed flowers. And he was covered in sticky, warm blood.

Those experiences had taught him some control. If only some. He had been able to make it through their wedding night without losing himself in Sansa's soft flesh. All he had to do was think of Robb, and Arya, and Bran, and _Rickon_ _._ Even Ned and Catelyn. Their dead eyes tranquilized him almost as much as Sansa's voice did.

All he had to do was fulfill his duty. Two children. One for the South, and one for the North. Even if it meant they could be deformed monsters with wings like Daenerys had had.

It had been a little over five years since they had been married, but still, she had not even been suspicious of a pregnancy.

It mainly had to do with the fact that Jon's visits happened every several weeks and she didn't ask more of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jon was beginning to drift off when he heard a guttural sound. Then two steps. He felt an intake of breath and claws scratching the floor. He jumped out of his bed, prepared to fight the intruder. 

It took him a second to realize he was on the floor and _it_ was holding him down. He tried to move his arms but it was impossible. He tried to yell but his lips were sealed. 

It was him. What he kept behind that mask of skin and blood was now free of restraint. He was what he feared, a _monster._ Big and violent and deformed. It was finally about to consume him.

But then those enormous, devoid-of-life gray eyes turned green. And Sansa's hands were now over his face and body. He was lying on his bed, panting and sweating.

''Jon, it's alright,'' she said.

''What happened?'' he asked, stunned. 

''You were having a nightmare, screaming all sorts of things.''

He then noticed they weren't alone in the room. Brienne was standing in a corner, impassive face and a sure hand on her sword. Ghost was there too, growling at him.

''I'm sorry if I scared you,'' he said, removing her hand from his face. ''It's okay now, you can go.''

Brienne left immediately, the white direwolf at her heels.

''I think I should stay,'' Sansa smiled. ''Remember when I had nightmares back then? You would always stay with me.''

''That was _before_ the war.''

''Yes, I know.''

She stood up and went to get a wet towel. She came back and put it on his forehead like Catelyn used to do when one of her children were sick. She was sitting so close to him his right hand was trapped between his body and her hips. She put one hand on his chest and the other started drawing patterns on his scalp.

''Do you want to talk about it?'', she whispered.

Her thin night shift and loose hair weren't helping him at all. She was even more beautiful than usual, at half light and not wearing that serious face she did for everyone else. Even with him. She was looking after him. It was all too intimate. Too affectionate.

''You should leave Sansa,'' he said, catching her hand. ''It must be really late.''

''I truly don't mind,'' she smiled.

She changed her sitting position and his body hair bristled. He could smell her. Sweet and sour at the same time. It was overwhelming his senses.

She went to caress his hair again and he felt his blood pressure rise. He was acting like a green boy, but for reasons that were well beyond simple embarrassment. 

He suddenly saw those girls again, saw her pale faces and empty eyes. He grabbed Sansa's wrist, as gently as he could manage and whispered: ''Leave.''

Her eyes filled with tears instantly and he let her go. 

She didn't spare him a second glance. She took three seconds to reach her room and close the heavy door behind her. 

Jon didn't hear her sob or take in deep breaths and thanked the Gods for that. He didn't hear her breathe at all. It was just like always, a thick wall separating their chambers and their true selves.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell receives a letter from King's Landing.

* * *

 

Jon emerged from the water, panting. He couldn’t stop thinking about that damn letter. Daenerys' handwriting was carved in the back of his head.

             

                _'I need to ask something of you. I wouldn't write if it weren't urgent.'_

 

She screamed through that ink. Jon could hear every letter transforming into a whispered word that had been said by her before, beyond the Wall. Every comma, a fingertip across his skin.

 

_'I know we didn't leave things on the best of terms, but I need your help. We are family after all.'_

 

Targaryens. Cursed blood.

 

               _'Things are not well here. The people are being fed lies about me. I think there is a plot to take my crown. Therefore, I need an heir to make sure I'll maintain my position. I am sending one of my best men to take this to you. Please let him come back with a positive answer.'_

 

No mention of Sansa. No mention of all the threats and manipulations after he said he wouldn’t marry her. He could remember her muffled voice, begging, like no one had heard it before.

 

He had to tell his wife himself, although she was probably aware by now about the presence of the Queen in the South's bannerman in Winterfell.

 

He went into the water again. The letter wouldn't leave his thoughts. It kept reappearing, every time with a different detail. An heir meant Sansa. His impure seed growing inside her and leaving a trace in this world. He once promised himself he wouldn’t father any children.

 

A soft knock on the door brought him back to reality. That deadly scent again. _Sansa_. He felt her lingering behind the wooden door. Long dress, dark cloak and riding boots. She brought the smell of Weirwood with her. She was breathing rapidly, lungs searching for air as if she had been running. He noticed he was heaving too.

 

He got out of the tub and covered himself with a dry linen.

 

"What happened?" Sansa inquired as soon as he opened the door, eyes wide and expectant. "Oh, I'm sorry."

 

She was looking down at him. He was dripping wet and the fine linen was soaking already. Sansa was blushed and looking straight to the floor.

 

"I can come back."

 

"I'll change and look for you in your room, alright?"

 

She nodded and left. He closed the door and stood there for a second or two. Her smell had entered the room and the animal felt it.

 

He dried and changed. When his body was relaxed enough and his heart had stopped pounding like before, he knocked on that door that connected his room to his wife's. She answered quickly and let him in.

 

"What did you need, my lady?" he asked nonchalantly.

 

"Podrick informed me one of your aunt's bannermen is here," she said, "Is there something wrong?"

 

Her voice quivered on that last word. Jon looked right at her and saw that she was searching for something that told her the worst was just around the corner. He knew, deep inside his void, that she feared to lose what little she still had left.

 

"He brought a letter," he answered immediately, "written by the Queen."

 

Sansa was sitting on her bed. Ghost was there too, eyeing him just in case. He felt her heart beating fast.

 

"She says someone is plotting against her." he responded, as calmly as possible, "I'd say Dorne."

 

"Why didn't she send a raven?" she continued, "Are we going to war?"

 

Jon couldn't do war. Not anymore. It had broken him too much. It had left him dead in a living body. No. Not again.

 

"We aren't. She asked for a favor. I'm never going to war again."

 

She took his arm. He didn't notice the moment when she had left her bed and gotten so close to him. "What did she ask for?"

 

Her breath was warm against his skin and he was feeling too much at the same time. He went out onto the balcony and hoped the cold air would calm him down.

 

"She asked for an heir," he said when he heard Sansa behind him.

 

She smiled. "It is about time, is it not?"

 

Jon didn't smile back. All he could think about was that he was barely able to control himself right then, even less when he shared her bed. An heir meant they would have to make love regularly. He felt a laugh trying to escape his throat. The beast was surely enjoying it. Sansa was the only prey he had never let it have.

 

"I think we are going to war, after all, my lady."

 

"Why?" she asked.

 

The sky was getting darker and darker with every passing second. Right then, it was light purple. He remembered Sansa used to love when the colours changed so fast.

 

"I should leave you, my lady, to get ready for supper."

 

He took a step forward but she grabbed his arm again.

 

"Why don't you just talk to me, Jon?" she asked in an agitated voice. "You are either mean or courteous, but you don't ever look at me."

 

She sounded so hurt it was hard for him not to start crying right then.

 

"I'm sorry you feel that way, my lady."

 

"Why don't you ever call me Sansa? After all this time?"

 

She let go of his arm and he felt like she was giving him a silent option. 'Leave and I'll finally cut you out of my life like you deserve' or 'Stay and _confess_ '. He didn't know which was worse. He knew he ought to leave, he deserved nothing more but her hate. His body wasn't moving though.

 

"I know I wasn't the nicest person when we were children but I thought we were past that. Before."

 

 _Before_. Before the war. Before he wasn't him anymore. Maybe even before rebuilding Winterfell. He would even say before Castle Black when he still thought she hated him, but he hoped she was alright all the same. But if he would say that, it would be like denying knowing her again. Forgetting all about the secrets they had shared, all the regrets and hopes for the future. He'd be denying warm touches (although still brotherly) and passionate promises.

 

"I just want to know what I did wrong. We've put this off for far too long." She took his chin and made him look right at her. "Please talk to me, Jon. I think I deserve at least that much."

 

Complete darkness was surrounding them now but Jon felt it came out of him.

 

Sansa's fingertips felt like a flame against his skin, although his Targaryen blood wouldn't let that hurt him. It did.

 

"You don't understand."

 

"Then explain."

 

He broke free of her grip and went back inside. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned around.

 

Sansa was leaning against the doorframe, both hands behind her back. Jon was searching for the right words. He didn't know how to say it and sound like a rational man. He didn't want to scare her either.

 

He could just say he didn't love her. That he was mean on purpose because she disgusted him.

 

"You didn't do anything wrong," he began, "I never intended to hurt you like that. I didn't know how else to do it."

 

"Do what Jon?"

 

His sight was blurry and his stomach was turning. He was about to let years and years of silence and guilt and inner battle out and his body was responding.

 

"There is something that's not right," he said, "something that's not right with me, Sansa."

 

He was feeling dizzy and the memories of those girls he had murdered were flashing through his mind like a storm of blood and screams.

 

"I am not the Jon you think you know. I've done terrible things."

 

"We all have, Jon," she said, with tears falling down her face.

 

"No, you don't get it."

 

He turned his back to her, facing the door. "I am not human anymore. I am a blood-thirsty animal. If you get nearer than convenient I will harm you."

 

"Jon," she said and tried to stop him from leaving. She blocked the door with her own body and took both his hands. "I don't get anything you're saying, but if you think you are bad, you aren't. I thought it was about me. You are one of the most honest, kin—"

 

"No! Sansa, listen to me!" he started yelling to her face, "I have murdered thousands! I don't deserve anything I've got and certainly not you!"

 

"Don't talk like that Jon, what you did at war was necessary, to defend your species an—"

 

"I enjoyed it, Sansa, that's the point!"

 

He was panting and sweating and his entire body was flushed against her's. He took three steps back.

 

"I wasn't me while I was doing that. It was like I transformed into something else. A killing machine."

 

There were no logs in the fireplace and the sun had disappeared a long time ago. Sansa could barely see him, but he could see everything. Every twitch and every shudder.

 

"That's all I am."

 

In two strides she was holding him, almost able to cover his body completely. "I don't care what you did out there. Whatever you think you are, how dangerous you say you are, I know you will not harm me."

 

He held her back and wrapped his arms around her. "I didn't mean to hurt you with my words but I know I will hurt you with my body. Even if I don't want to."

 

"Why? Because you are a violent fighter? I don't care about that. Our bed is not a war zone."

 

He smiled. She still didn't get how far his violence went. So he tried to enlighten her. He got close to her ear and whispered, barely audibly, how he had killed the prostitute and the handmaiden. Every detail he could remember.

 

When he finished, he thought she was going to run but, instead, she just said: "They didn't have the Direwolf inside like us."

 

"I also have the Dragon."

 

"You think it’s are more powerful than the wolf?" she asked, and then smiled as if she had discovered something unbelievable, "You think I can't handle the dragon?"

 

He shook his head. "It's more complicated than that. It's not about handling, it's about life and death."

 

She gave him a sad smirk. "I believe every word you said, Jon. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I can take it. Everything."

 

"No, Sans—"

 

"How can you know if you've never tried me? You’ve never talked to me about this before. We’ve spent all this time drifting away when we could have made something."

 

He locked his fingers in her hair and let that fire-like colour consume him. He would never feel like he deserved her. He’d never feel like anything but wrong, misplaced and broken. He had always loved Sansa, but perhaps it was time he let Sansa love him back.

 

Jon took a long breath and whispered. ‘’You really think we can try?’’

 

She nodded and slowly brushed her lips with his. ‘’Of course.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the end!!! I just want to clarify although it seems like a happy one, don't think for a second that all of Jon's issues just went away with pretty words (I know it's very very loose but well). Anyway, thank you for reading this mess!!!


End file.
